


when I see you after so long not seeing you

by crookedspoon



Series: Spicing up the Autumn 2017 [15]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M, Forbidden Love, Guilty Pleasures, POV Richard Gansey III, Pegging, Shame, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 06:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: He'd hoped that as he grew older, he would not think of her in that way so much anymore, would perhaps outgrow his infatuation completely. Yet apparently he hasn't grown up at all, because if anything, his feelings have only matured into something more dire.





	when I see you after so long not seeing you

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 16 "Pegging" at Kinktober.
> 
> Am I getting booted out of the fandom yet? I've been meaning to write this pairing for a long time, and, since I've already been writing so much problematic content for this Kinktober, I thought might as well.

Gansey buries his moans into the pillow, even though it's no use to hide them. Helen shoves another one out of him. 

If he'd known how overwhelming this would be, perhaps he would not have agreed to it. But this is Helen, and he cannot think of a single thing he would not let her try out. (And if the idea comes from her, he does not have to own up to how much he's been wanting the same thing all along. He doesn't put it past her to be aware of that already. The Gansey siblings know each other well, after all.)

So this is how Gansey finds himself on his hands and knees in his old bedroom during one of his mother's costume parties. He's still wearing his own mask and most of his suit besides because no matter what, he's still ashamed to be doing this. Leaving on his clothes and not touching her skin to skin is as much a form of private punishment as it is the sensible thing to do. He shouldn't be touching his sister in that way. And if he's not touching her, if he doesn't even _see_ her, he can more easily imagine it's someone else he's with.

Although this solution is a dubious improvement, because it comes with its own brand of shame.

He shouldn't be thinking about his best friends like this either, shouldn't be thinking of Ronan's strong hands gripping his waist or how his stubble would be scratching over his cheek, shouldn't be thinking about how much he'd like Adam to grind him under his heel, because wouldn't Adam like this too? Wouldn't it make him feel more in control? If there were any chance of offering it to Adam without making it weird or sound condescending, Gansey would have taken it a long time ago.

It seems he can only admit to wanting these things in Helen's presence, as if she takes apart the filters he has built around his thoughts. Perhaps it's because she knows the worst parts of him anyway, or because no matter what else he could want from other people, nothing could be worse than what he wants from his own sister.

What is it with Gansey and loving the people closest to him so much? 

Ronan, who has been like a brother to him and whose old self Gansey tries hard to see in its current guise that has grown so hard and thorny and impenetrable, but still essentially malleable where Gansey is concerned. Adam, who for some reason stays with Gansey although Gansey's entire being must be offensive to him and whom Gansey tries to appease like nothing else. Even Noah, who is so quick to smile and whose friendship seems so easy to slip into, like a favorite sweater, that it seems impossible to offend him – a welcome change to when Gansey just had another argument with Adam about his principles.

But it's Helen who occupies his mind now; Helen, who is always there when he needs her, who remembers sides to him he can't show to anyone else, who makes him aware of his own body by showing him how vulnerable it is, how susceptible to influences like hers.

He'd hoped that as he grew older, he would not think of her in that way so much anymore, would perhaps outgrow his infatuation completely. Yet apparently he hasn't grown up at all, because if anything, his feelings have only matured into something more dire.

Their relationship is a lonely one, Gansey thinks darkly as he gasps in a breath. Helen is as independent as they come, and Gansey himself feels stifled by nostalgia in his parents' sprawling mansion, one of the reasons he likes to avoid it. The other is Helen herself. He prefers to be apart from her, because that is the only way he can pretend nothing untoward is going on. 

Helen respects this, just as she respects all of his whims, and only sees him when he calls her for something, or when their parents are having a fundraiser or a dinner party or a birthday.

She, too, knows how difficult it is to hide this – how it is smarter not to be seen too close to each other. Gansey is paranoid that people will notice what they mean to each. That is why she tells him when she is going to attend these functions so that he can decide whether or not to come as well.

Gansey cannot always ignore his mother's parties, however, and occasionally, they're the best excuse to see Helen, even if they'll be in the way of _actually_ seeing her. There will be socializing and polite conversations, sedate dances perhaps, and that is the most intimate contact he is allowed to have with her where everyone can see, even if it is dangerous to be taking part in it. He may be proving that he is a good sport to be asking his sister for a dance, and also that his family is on very good terms with one another – this sort of public demonstration can only benefit his mother. 

Even if the theme of the dance seeks to recreate the colorful splendor of a Venetian carnival, and the masks the attendants are encouraged to wear conceal their identities, he still cannot relax into the fantasy of being unrecognizable and therefore able to get away with touching her bare back or pressing her so close he can feel every shift of movement, or maybe even kissing away that cruelly sweet twist to her mouth by the end of the night.

Her perfume alone is threatening to make him throw caution to the wind. He savored the hitch in her breath when he touched the back of her neck and whispered, "I need to see you."

He couldn't have taken the agony of dancing with other partners while his sister was off doing the same, so when their song ended, he stepped off the dancefloor a little shakily and waited for her signal.

The moments leading up to their little get-together, after his decision to take the risk, are the worst. The anticipation of it sweats through him and it becomes harder to focus on the lines of thought that are presented to him during conversation. All he can think of is finally taking her into his arms.

They embrace as soon as the door is locked behind them and the curtains are drawn. He still doesn't feel entirely comfortable, with so many guests around the house, but at least their parents would be occupied.

His world feels complete when he finally kisses her cheek, her ear, her neck – chaste kisses, all things considered, and never on the mouth, because no matter how much she swears that it her lipstick is top of the line and sealed, he still cannot shake the image of being caught with his sister's lipstick on his mouth. Her perfume he could still explain away, but not that.

Sometimes he wonders if it wouldn't be smarter to let himself have this, to perhaps meet her more often, to really feed this obsession with her until it's sated and they grow bored of each other. He is taking little sips of her now, ever thirsty for their next encounter, and when it arrives, never drinking his fill.

"Dick," she says all of a sudden. The thrusting has come to a halt. "I can tell you're inside your head again. If this is uncomfortable, or you don't like it..."

She slips out of him and nudges him to lie on his side. "No," he says hastily. "No, it's good. I want this."

"Shall I continue then?" She teases his opening again.

"I beg you to," he says and his words turn into a stifled cry as she sinks into him again. It feels so good, but now he has fewer leverage than he had when he was kneeling in front of her.

Even though he's often the one to initiate this, he leaves the details up to her. He doesn't allow himself to sleep with her in what he thinks of as "the usual way" because he's afraid to get her pregnant, contraceptives notwithstanding. Nor does he like them to be too naked around each other. Among other things he's not comfortable with. With so many ground rules in place, it's only right that she navigate the rest of the encounter and that he go along with it. She ought to know best what feels good for her despite the restrictions he's placed on them.

The strapon had still surprised him somewhat. Perhaps it shouldn't have. He has taken a liking to her fingering him and has often wanted her to go deeper. He hasn't said so in words, but the desperate way he pushed back against her knuckles could not have been lost on her.

And the idea of her thrusting into him instead of the other way around became immediately appealing. He wouldn't feel like forcing this on her.

Helen's voice once again interrupts him.

"Have you been thinking of your friend again? The pretty one?" They can't really see each other beyond shadow-cast outlines. Only his bedside alarm and the lights from the hallway provide illumination, but he doesn't need his eyes to hear the mischievous quirk in her voice.

"Helen!" he protests, but a shameful wave of heat rolls through him.

"No one would blame you if you had a crush on him."

"He's my best friend! It would be inappropriate."

Helen laughs but doesn't state the obvious: that appropriateness becomes a weak defense when your sister is buried to the hilt inside you. He has become so good at rationalizing this away. As long as it's dark or they're wearing masks and do not have to look each other in the eye, he can pretend it's not happening. 

Or happening with someone else, since his body can't ignore the stimulation.

Okay, perhaps she got him there.

He touches himself and concentrates on his pleasure so he wouldn't have to have that conversation anymore. Which doesn't mean he's free of those thoughts, because they come bearing down on him harder than before.

In a way, it's easier to imagine your best friend doing this to you than acknowledging that it's actually your sister doing this.

It feels too good to handle either way.

Gansey grabs a few tissues from the nightstand and spills himself into them, shame-faced and regretful. If only he didn't want her so much. If only this were normal. If only they didn't have to hide.

Helen rocks into him a few more times, and strokes the small of his back. She's using her naked hand for that, not the one that is still gloved, and he loves this sort of immediate connection too much for comfort.

He feels empty when she slides out, bereft, but most of all he feels sick. They shouldn't be doing this.

"Your turn," Helen says and the crinkle of a condom foil confuses him. He has only just had his release, surely she can't expect him to be ready again. "Put this on."

"Is this sanitary?" he asks, perplexed, as she shoves the strapon against his thigh. "Did you clean this already?"

"I'm using condoms on it, dummy. Makes cleanup easier."

She has a point, Gansey thinks as he reluctantly kicks off his pants to slip this thing on. He prefers not to expose that much skin to her, but a greater part of his attention is besieged by the prospect of what's to come.

Helen presses one hand into his chest, as she brings her knees to either side of him. The slit in her dress reveals one stockinged thigh. It feels dangerous to run his fingers over the flimsy fabric, brush his thumb over the lace. He is tempted to hike his hand higher, to feel her there just as she's sinking onto the shaft.

She utters a low moan when her hips sink down to meet his and he can only dream of how it would feel to slide into her slick heat himself.

The memory of his fingers inside her is too much already, but coupled with her rocking on top of him, it becomes sheer unbearable. He smooths his hands over her sides, feeling her through her dress, before he sits up and gathers her into his arms. She breathes deeper from the shift in pressure, and he buries his head into the crook of her neck, feeling her pulse thud against his temple.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and cards her fingers through his hair. His hips twitch and she moans close by his ear and he can't help but wanting to replicate it. So he twitches his hips again, into her and is rewarded with the same high-pitched moan.

He grinds his hips against hers, dragging them back only to snap them forward again.

Helen hisses his name, and God's, and other encouragements, because they dare not be loud. She presses her lips together then and concentrates on the sensations instead, thighs squeezing him hard. After a while, she becomes quiet, even as she's stroking herself, even as he's working himself inside her.

A wicked thought takes hold of him.

"Are _you_ thinking of Adam this time? The pretty one?" he murmurs, and he can't stop the onslaught of images forming in his mind.

"What if I were?" she murmurs back, not as opposed to the idea as he was.

"I wouldn't blame you." He kisses her ear, holding onto her tightly. He doesn't want to picture her riding Adam instead of him, but he does it anyway.

"You wouldn't be jealous?"

"I would be, but I'd understand, too."

She's panting now, hips jerking against him ever quicker, and then she's juddering against him, burying a drawn-out moan into his shoulder.

He rolls onto his back, with her cradled in his arms.

"You know what?" she asks, still catching her breath. "Perhaps we ought to invite your friend and see how he'd like to sleep with both of us."

"Helen!" he exclaims and immediately throws his hands over his mouth. 

"I wouldn't pass up the chance of watching him work over my cute little brother."

"What are you suggesting?" He sounds alarmed.

"I'm just teasing," she says and kisses his cheek.

He relaxes a little. Part of him wants to say that she shouldn't say these things if she doesn't mean them, but he also knows she wouldn't have said it if she hadn't meant it. And that is a conversation he is not prepared to have. Yet. Or ever.

He does not want to be sleeping with his friends. More importantly, he doesn't want his friends to know he is sleeping with his sister. That is a knowledge that can strain even the most tolerant of friendships and he doesn't want to risk losing any of his friends over it. He cherishes them, even if he does feel guilty about keeping this from them.

Helen gets off him and helps him rid himself of the strapon. Then she lies down next to him, and tangles their legs together. That is his favorite part of the night, because it evokes memories of the days when they were younger, much younger, the days when he wasn't living on borrowed time, when time was still his own.

They would just be lying in her bed or his, tangled up together, listening to the soothing sound of each other's breathing. His love for her then had felt pure and unblemished. He was grateful to have a sibling who understood him, who was there for him, and who bad-mouthed their relatives with him in the dark where no one else cold hear.

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and continues stroking her cheek. She is mirroring him, and smoothing out his frown. He misses those more innocent days, when he didn't have to look back in shame on what he had just done with her, what he had enjoyed doing. 

It feels wrong somehow to deny this when it makes him feel so complete. Yet even as he thinks this, a million reasons flood his brain as to why he can never speak about it, never even so much as hint at it. He would lose his friends, his mother would lose her campaign, and perhaps, in the aftermath he would even lose Helen, because either of them decided the fallout had not been worth it and the regret of having let it happen anyway would be driving them apart.

No, it is better to savor this quietly and let no one else know about it. The only way to keep it is to keep it between themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Sonnet w/ Rose" by Mattew Yaeger.
> 
> Tumblr post for reblogging convenience can be found [here](https://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/166553831825/kinktober-day-16-pegging).


End file.
